


everything stays

by Fxckxxp



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bisexuality, Canon Compliant, Communication, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, High Sex, M/M, Marijuana, POV Niccolò Fares, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Smoking, Smut, including nico's sexuality, kind of?, they have an important conversation about some stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 06:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17720087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fxckxxp/pseuds/Fxckxxp
Summary: Marti and Nico talk about a few firsts and then make one together.





	1. right where you left it

It’s hour forty on the couch — a nest of blankets and pillows over the cracked leather that gets cold in the winter.

Not consecutively, of course. They’ve gotten up to go to the bathroom, to get food, to take a shower. To hang out in the kitchen or on the balcony — even a grocery store run made it in there somewhere. Although everything they’ve ended up needing has found its way on to Nico’s coffee table eventually, negating the demand to actually have to get up: water and coffee gone cold, the ukulele, cigarettes, snacks, lube. 

The top of it definitely looks like two teenage boys have shut themselves in for the weekend, but Nico will clean it later — before his parents get home tomorrow from their trip to Umbria.

Thank god they trusted him alone this time around. Well, kind of. They may have hinted that they “wouldn’t mind” if Marti stayed with him — and he knows that means _we don’t want you in the house by yourself._ Which, fine. But he made a point to tell them he doesn’t need a babysitter, and if he did he sure wouldn’t want it to be his boyfriend. (Okay, maybe he wasn’t the nicest about it, but at least they’ve taken a liking to Marti. At least they trust _him.)_

Now unsupervised and free do to as he pleases, you’d think Nico would want to spend the first free weekend he has _not_ cooped up inside — but finally being ungrounded from stealing the car and booking it to Bracciano means this is the first weekend he can actually see Marti. Technically, his punishment started after the new year because his parents do have _some_ sense of decency and weren’t going to discipline him over the holidays.

Marti’s head is in Nico’s lap, who is slouched so far down he’s almost horizontal with his feet resting on the coffee table. It’s been too long, and basically Nico is desperately kiss and skin and touch and everything Marti deprived. 

And the only place they can hang out in their underwear half-draped over each other is right here on the couch. 

They haven’t said a word for a while. Something soft and slow and synthy from Marti’s phone is playing through Nico’s speakers at a barely audible volume and the room is hazy with long shadows from the last light of the sinking sun and the spark of a joint. But it’s a comfortable silence. The TV is on but muted. They started watching Adventure Time because Marti had never seen it, and right now he’s reading the closed captioning at the bottom of the screen while he traces nonsense patterns with his finger on Nico’s knee. 

Nico keeps twisting the same soft curl behind his ear over and over, watching him watch. 

They are, at a first glance, doing nothing. But it means everything to Nico.

Marti is a little restless. Nico can feel his tense breathing exhale on the tops of his thighs, his head shift in his lap, his feet twitch. He wants to say something, Nico can tell — but he isn’t going to pry. Instead, he takes a drag of the joint he’s just lit, feeling the smoke fill his mouth and then his lungs. While he holds his breath in, he lowers it down to Marti’s face who turns up to look at him on his back now, letting Nico put it between his lips.

He sure is the most beautiful thing Nico has ever seen. 

They’ve shared a smoke on this couch more than a handful of times now, but his mind is drifting back to the very first time — Marti on the same side he is now. His dumb button up and his cute laugh and _god_ he is so funny. Nico just remembers laughing until he couldn’t breathe and smiling until his cheeks hurt. Stealing glances. Fingers touching at the tips as they passed it back and forth. His heart starts to flutter at the memory, then soften when it catches up to the present.

In their short time together, no one has ever wanted to spend time with him the way Marti does. 

Marti tries to blow a smoke ring but it comes out as more of a bubble, some of it escaping through his nose. His eyes are low and pink and tired from doing nothing all day, the shadows from his eyelashes dark over the freckles of his cheeks. And his hair — long and unruly, has he even cut it since Nico’s known him? Nico moves to brush it off his forehead, more freckles coming into view.

God, yes, the most beautiful thing Nico has _ever_ seen.

He feels his own face get mushy as he looks down at Martino, the music in the background becoming one constant, comfy buzz. He feels it now — the high start to creep up his body and nip at the base of his brain. Like everything is moving a few frames slower.

Nico’s so caught up in the love floating around his mind like a bloated, untethered half-thought that he doesn’t hear Marti’s question the first time he asks it.

“Are you too stoned to remember, or…?” Marti trails, teasing.

“Hm?” Nico hums, focusing his confused eyes, snapping back to reality.

It makes Martino chuckle, coughing on the smoke before taking one more small drag and handing the joint back to Nico.

“The first time you ever smoked,” Marti repeats. “Did you like it?”

Nico tries to remember. God, it was so long ago. Definitely with the boys at Virgilio.

“Hm. I don’t think so, actually.”

Marti scoots up, head resting on his hip now. “Why not?”

“I didn’t know anything about weed then,” Nico hums, his fingers still buried in Marti’s curls and twisting the ones by his ears around his knuckles. “Because, you know, there are different types. Some herb gives you an intense, energetic mindfuck. Some gives you a deep, relaxing high you feel more in you muscles and less in your brain. Like what we’re smoking now.” He taps his joint on the glass dish, resting on the arm of the couch. The ash falls into it.

Marti reaches up, makes grabby hands for it. “I noticed the stuff you get is different.”

“Surprise surprise. I don’t like the kind of weed that fucks with my mind too much.”

Marti takes a drag. “But you like this? I like it.”

“Yeah,” Nico sighs, content. He closes his eyes and leans his head back on the loose cushion. “This makes me feel… I don’t know. Heavy. Like I’m here.”

“Like you’re here,” Marti repeats. 

Nico knows he doesn’t really understand. But Marti echoes it back in a contemplative way, not in a contempt way. He’s always _trying_ to understand, which is better than anyone else tries to do.

Some silence bar the music passes. They finish the joint, and Nico ashes it out. He can feel the vibrations he’s not 100% sure are really there on the heels of his feet; actually, the playlist must have stopped, he is properly stoned. 

He feels Marti jostle in his lap with a laugh. He opens his eyes and looks down to see him giggling at the TV, then up to see Lumpy Space Princess wearing a trash bag as a dress.

“You like this?” Nico asks, smug.

“It’s funny,” Marti admits. “I’m not surprised at all _you_ like it.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Nico says it without any animosity. His fingers brush against Marti’s jaw, and he taps his nose with his thumb.

“Nothing,” Marti turns back up to look him in the eye — big and sparkly and soft. He could kill Nico with those eyes. “Just that this show is weird and that you are weird and that I like weirdos, I guess.”

Nico chuckles. “Okay.”

Smiling, Marti shifts in his lap to kiss the soft part of Nico’s lower tummy before turning around to continue watching.

What Nico wouldn’t give to have this lazy afternoon last forever.

“What about you?”

Marti turns back. “What about me what?”

“The first time you got high,” Nico clarifies. “Did you like it?”

Marti thinks, smirking. “It was the first time I met Elia,” he chuckles. “And yeah, I did. We were at Gio’s lake house, and I just remember everything being so fucking funny. And then Elia made some pasta that was in hindsight probably awful, but at the time it was, like, the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Yeah?” Nico questions, his voice getting high at the end. There’s still so much they don’t know about each other — all of these little things and unseeming memories. Nico wants to know them all. He wants to know everything about Marti.

Marti coughs. “But it also made me really horny.”

Nico lowers one eyebrow and squints down at Marti. “Smoking makes you horny?”

“Sometimes,” he shrugs. “Haven’t you ever gotten off while you were high?”

He hasn’t. Not that it doesn’t sound like something he’d never try, Nico’s just never thought about it. Smoking, more than anything and in the right conditions, just takes the edge off sometimes. It makes his body stop revving like a car at a red light, waiting for it to turn green.

“No, actually,” Nico swallows. 

Nico watches Marti’s face begin to get pink. 

“I can’t speak for everyone. But I like it.” It’s insinuating but also shy, like it’s been on Marti’s mind for awhile.

Nico starts to think of all the times they’ve smoked up together, alone. If Marti was sitting next to him — squirming and aching to be touched. Maybe too high to ratify making a move when he knows Nico can feel the most vulnerable in this state, waiting for him to instead.

His mouth is starting to go dry thinking about it. Suddenly the fact that Marti is taking a drag half naked — head in his lap — is very present. The fact he might feel that way now. His legs are bent up at the knees, bare feet on the blanket draped over the far cushion; it would be hard to tell if he was half hard.

Nico trails his eyes over him anyway. Wide shoulders, smooth chest. His stomach has this dipped line that starts right at his sternum and makes its way down to his bellybutton, just the littlest bit of definition. Fine hairs below it trail into the band of his underwear, sitting low on his waist and riding up his thighs. His hips and legs look so soft and weighty. Nico’s favorite thing is to grab them, to sink his fingers into his skin there and push him down on top of him.

He snaps back to attention. “I thought I was your first?” Nico smirks, bobbing his head with just a little bit of smugness.

It’s a loaded question, and this is actually just an assumption — partly Nico’s way of fishing for the confirmation.

“Don’t play dumb,” Marti reaches up to slap Nico feather-light and playful on the cheek. “You know what I mean.”

He does, and the thought alone is starting to make Nico’s skin flush behind his neck, on his cheeks. Thinking of Marti before they were together, getting high with his friends, going home still buzzed and shutting the door of his room behind him and putting his hand down his pants —

He stops himself before Marti can feel him get hard.

Nico at least knows that them together was the first time Marti’s done anything with another boy, because in Bracciano once Nico got Marti’s pants down to his knees, leaned up against the wall, there was a quick exchange:

 _I’ve never done this before._ (i.e. Nico, talking about sucking a dick.)

 _Me neither._ (i.e. Marti, most likely talking about getting his dick sucked by a boy.)

But he could have been talking in general, now that he thinks of it. “Have you ever…?” Nico trails, realizing Marti didn’t fully answer his question. “With a girl, I mean.”

Marti snorts. “No. I don’t think I could have ever even pretended to be turned on enough for that, to be honest.”

Nico hums, thinking. “So only interested in dudes then?” He asks, looking down — Marti’s head still in his lap, fingers continuing to comb through his hair and pushing it back out of his face.

“Yeah, I guess,” Marti chuckles. “But you…?”

Nico’s hand stills, and he smiles down at him. “But me what?”

“I guess I’ve just never asked you before,” Marti says, honest. His eyes dart up, soft and wide and genuine while he waits for Nico to spell it out for him.

That’s what he’s doing. And that’s fine. Nico doesn’t really like talking about Maddalena, but she doesn’t define or ratify his sexuality. With her or without her — with Marti or without Marti — he still has feelings. He can speak to them without specific examples.

It took awhile to get here, though, in a place where he can trust them — any sense of faith in himself slipped away after his feelings for Michael, the truth twisting when it seemed like everyone else had an opinion about that.

But Marti… he solidified it. Not proved it, but solidified it.

“Well,” Nico exhales, hand still carding through Marti’s hair, making it wild. He glides his palm over to his temple and traces a freckle or two. “You can ask me anything.”

Smiling and preening into Nico’s touch, Marti closes his eyes. Exhales. “The boys asked me if you were bisexual.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said I didn’t know.”

Nico chuckles. “Are _you_ asking me if I’m bisexual?”

Marti opens his eyes again, shoulders shrugging. “I guess.”

“Then yeah,” Nico shrugs right back, smiling softly down at Marti. “I guess.”

His phone buzzes on the coffee table. He sees Marti’s eyes dart towards in, the small screen reading _Maddalena_ in pixelated letters. 

Nico stiffens, letting it ring. And ring. And ring.

Marti reaches forward for the remote on the coffee table and turns the TV off. “Are you going to answer it?” he asks, turning up to look at him.

Nico purses his lips. “No,” he decides.

“We’re cool, you know,” Marti slumps back down. “I mean, I don’t think we’re each other’s biggest fans, but we’re cool.”

This is news to Nico. He’d rather have this conversation later, though. It’ll be like a bandaid he rips off all at once.

“The last time I talked to her was in Milan,” Nico admits.

“Why?”

“Because I’m angry at her.”

“She apologized to me—” Marti starts.

But Nico cuts him off. “She didn’t apologize to me.”

Marti pauses. “Maybe that’s why she keeps calling, Ni.”

He’s right. Nico knows he’s right.

“That conversation might take hours, Marti. I don’t want to have it right now,” he sighs, but not scornful. More like just exhausted. “I just want to chill with you right now.”

“Okay,” Marti says softly, a little defeated. “I just want to chill with you too.”

Nico feels sour now. The last buzz of his phone on the table leaving a phantom one in his ear he can’t shake. Being alone with Marti for the past two days has almost made him forget both his parents and Maddalena even exist. And then seeing her name on that little screen — something that used to make his heart soar — just made it sink.

He’s not a resentful person. He understands that people don’t understand, despite trying. These bitter reminders might be healthy because thinking he and Marti are invincible often lead to grandiose daydreams of running away together. 

Sometimes he has to remind himself that will not solve his problems. That Marti isn’t perfect.

“You okay?” Marti asks. He sits up, relieving some pressure from Nico’s lap.

But damn it, he sure is close. 

Nico kind of hates how glaring his shifts in mood are, that Marti can pick up on them so easily. At least lately. In the beginning Nico tried his best to not be so impossible, but he’s sure he’s failed even then. 

That’s the thing about Marti, though — he brings his walls down. Nico doesn’t even think twice about hiding behind a smile anymore when it’s just the two of them. Of course, there will always be that broad fear that this cannot last (with anyone, ever) — it’s made a homey nest in his neurons long ago so deep and tangled it will never move out. 

Yet despite still learning, they’ve fallen into the fastest comfort.

Marti’s eyes dart back and forth between Nico’s own, searching for something before reaching out — stroking his cheek with one finger, the rest of them laid against this jaw. God, he’s always like this. So careful. And never in a belittling way. He cares for Nico unlike anyone has ever cared for him before.

These thoughts put him at ease. Marti is the best stabilizer. 

“Yeah.”

And it’s the truth.

Marti’s arms are around are him before he even finishes that one word, always waiting.

Nico pulls him on his lap — all the way, and Marti goes willingly. He’s heavy but Nico doesn’t mind. Just the opposite. Coupled with his already heavy limbs from smoking, the pressure feels like he’s underwater — Marti’s hips pinning his hips to the couch; Marti’s chest pinning his back to it, too. It’s the most grounding thing. The physicality of it all so extremely tangible Nico has no choice but to be hyper aware of his surroundings and his feelings. 

It’s usually either or with Marti. Nico is either right here, right now, or on another plane of existence. Lately though, with nothing but the truth and trust between them, when Nico is so wrapped up in everything Marti he just feels…

Good. There’s probably a much more eloquent and poetic way to put it, but. That’s what it all boils down to. Marti makes Nico feel good. About everything. Himself included, which is such a rare thing. 

He’s reminded of it especially so when Marti is on top of him like this, his undenying presence making every second that passes add up to all the hours Nico has felt the most here in his head. 

(The only thing he remembers from Milan is Marti on top of him — quick snapshots of them half naked on the couch, Marti rolling over him. He just sees red when he closes his eyes, just sees Marti smiling above him.)

“Can I kiss you?” Marti asks, getting comfy with his legs spread over Nico’s lap. He brushes a dark curl out of Nico’s eyes, combing it all back in tangles with his fingers. 

His insides smile first, permeating out until he feels his lips curl up. “You don’t have to ask me.”

“Good,” Marti breathes, leaning in and saying the last half of the word through soft pressed lips.

Nico’s eyes close on command and he feels himself melt into the blanket spread over the couch. They part their lips and turn their heads in a slow back and forth, hands getting comfy on bare skin: Nico’s on Marti’s waist, Marti’s on Nico’s face. The muscles of their chests pressed together, the soft insides of Marti’s thighs around his hips.

The kiss is soft and gentle and full of care and love, but it’s difficult to keep his mind from diverging in this position. 

Nico can feel Marti start to get hard, the outline of his dick pressed against his lower stomach. It makes his skin feel hot, his head feel light. 

Nico shifts in his spot to give him some friction, to maybe line it up with the start of his own erection and reciprocate. 

“Sorry,” Marti breathes, mistaking it for discomfort and pulling away. 

Nico just tugs him back like an instinct, a little breathless at the loss of contact. His grip on Marti’s waist moves to the small of his back so he can keep him close. 

“It’s okay.”

They look at each other with shy smiles, like they haven’t done this a dozen times before. Marti’s eyes are tired and red from smoking, almost hypnotized with a hazy lack of focus.

Nico wants to give him this. Wants to feel it himself; experience how the coupling of one body high with another might be. He brings their lips back together with already open mouths, slips his tongue in hot and slow. 

It’s met with a stuttered sigh of relief. Marti presses into Nico, all his weight. 

This is nice right now. Nico just wants to feel as close to Marti as possible, and sometimes the only way to do that is by doing something only the two of them do together. 

It becomes a little frantic, melting from soft slow lips and tongues into something messier. As they kiss, Nico’s hands grip the low, soft part on the back of Marti’s hips — his fingers sink in, his wrists bow up and down with the the slight thrusts as Marti starts to hesitantly hump him. The beginning of that friction makes Marti hum something high and quiet into Nico’s mouth.

The movements are a little desperate on Marti’s part — he kisses Nico slack and sloppy, he ruts his hips harder but slower and inconsistent. He’s more vocal than Nico’s ever heard. 

It makes the tips of his ears sear, the insides of them ring in a charming chord. To feel Marti like this — his weight on top of him shameless and uncontrolled — is making him dizzy with want. But more than anything he wants Marti to feel good.

Nico roams his hands lower. Slipping his fingers down the waistband on the back of Marti’s underwear, catching it with his knuckles, he pulls it down so it’s tight around the tops of his thighs. His dick is hot and hard against Nico’s stomach, he feels it twitch between them pressed together — heavy in his lap. 

Nico cups his ass, both cheeks. Squeezes. Spreads them.

Marti breaks away to groan into Nico’s temple.

“Do you want me to?” Nico whisper laughs, turning to kiss Marti’s jaw long and slow while one of his hands slips under to trail a finger between his cheeks, pressing lightly at the muscles of his rim as a hint.

He knows the answer already before Marti turns his head back and nods desperately into a kiss — he loves this. The first time it ever happened, Marti had asked for it.

Which means he already knew he liked it. Which gave Nico a mental image of Marti fingering himself and an instant boner.

Nico leans forward, holding on to Marti by his low back so he doesn’t fall and manages to swipe the lube on the tabletop with the tips of his fingers. They drop back into position, Nico clicks the bottle open and wets his hand, slips it between their laps to stroke once up Marti’s dick with a quick, distracting kiss. 

(So it feels better when he rocks into Nico. But also to tease him. Nico’s smiling with his lip between his teeth.)

Marti slumps, as if his whole body was animated by his eyes rolling back. His hips buckle forward on impulse, trying to chase Nico’s disappearing hand. 

“Warn a guy,” Marti breathes, swallowing the last word with a short gasp when Nico’s grip on his back slips down to grab his butt, reaching in to massage a circle on his rim with his finger.

Nico’s smug smile is interrupted with a hasty kiss from Marti, and he can feel him spread his legs farther over his lap to preen into it, asking for more — for all of it.

Giving in, Nico presses one finger inside him up to the second knuckle, bending it to stretch and pushing up all the way. Dragging back down, again and again. Curling and uncurling.

The sounds Marti makes. His skin firm and full in Nico’s grasp. The way he kisses: open and long. The way he moves on top of Nico: hips rocking, the muscles from his shoulders to his stomach expanding and contracting. The way he touches Nico: hands on his face, then his shoulders.

Everything about him; Marti is so hot.

Nico is suddenly aware of his own dick, so hard the aching of it is what reminds him.

This happens a lot — being so focused on Marti he forgets about himself.

“Ni,” Marti begs, chasing his finger with the rocking of his hips until he’s bottomed out to Nico’s knuckles each time. “One more?”

“Okay,” Nico nods, his head getting light at the sound of Marti’s soft broken voice. He slips his finger out to wet it and another one again with the lube, his fore and middle one coming back to rub the opening before pushing both inside him — pulling a moan out of Marti.

Who does most of the work — flattening his hips against Nico’s stomach and grinding, getting some slippery friction on his dick while he fucks himself on Nico’s fingers like he can’t get enough.

And Nico’s just left there to kiss him breathless and messy on every corner of his face, letting him move on top of him and trailing his free hand wherever it pleases — Marti’s butt and hip and soft thighs its favorite spot. 

His whole body is pulsing, ultra tender between the hot blood of every heart beat. 

“More,” Marti says softly. Honestly. With a different intonation than the first time he asked. Right into Nico’s ear like he’s continuing the conversation they had earlier, which feels like a light year away now. 

“Marti, three—?”

“You know what I mean,” Marti says over it.

Oh. _Oh._

Jesus. Nico’s eyes flutter as they threaten to roll back. The words give his whole body a jolt of want — to imagine Marti move like this on top of him, to imagine him around him —

His dick twitches, his knees buckle. The thought alone makes all the blood in his brain drain south until it’s practically useless. 

Marti arches his back, lifts his hips high until Nico’s fingers slip out of him and repositions himself so he’s sitting in Nico’s lap with his full weight. He moves so his ass is spread right over Nico’s dick.

Marti starts rocking back and forth and breathing hard into Nico’s temple, his opposite hand coming up to hold the other side of Nico’s face like he’s steadying his brain between the touches. 

That’s what it feels like, anyway. 

The friction is too good. Nico slips his free hands to the dips of Marti’s sides. Through just the thin tight layer of his underwear he can feel everything — every movement. Can see Marti’s dick hard and flush against his own stomach. 

“Okay,” Nico agrees, breathless. He thinks he nods his head but he can’t quite tell it’s so light. 

“Should we use a condom?”

Nico nods again. “Yeah. I have some in my room, hold on.” He turns to kiss Marti before gently pushing him off to get up.

Nico doesn’t remember how his feet carry him to his room. But he opens the bottom drawer of his nightstand, some loose condoms meticulously buried under carefully arranged junk.

They’re new. He had some leftover from months and months ago but threw those out after Bracciano — they were still fine, but the intent he bought them with were not the intent he’d presently use them, so it just seemed wrong, somehow. He bought these right before Milan. They didn’t use them, but he had them. Just in case. 

When he gets back to the living room, the mechanics of the rest of it happen in a stumbly, nervous-happy blur: they get naked between lots of kisses, boxers around their ankles and flung somewhere on the floor; Nico sits back down, Marti gets back on top of him and snatches the condom, unwrapping it and announcing he’s never had to put one on (himself or someone else) before.

This is always the least sexy part. But Nico’s dick has gotten close to no attention, so even when Marti rolls it on him he exhales deep through his nose with closed eyes.

His head is fuzzy with the thought about what’s about to happen. the rest of his body has an inconsistent and undulating flutter that swaps between ache and want. They’ve never done this before, they’ve never even talked about it. But Nico trusts Marti fully with what he wants.

He’s surprised his thoughts are coherent enough to be patient; he waits for Marti to make the first move, to line them up.

Before that happens, though, with eyes still closed, Nico hears the click of the lube bottle and then Marti’s fingers are around him, pulling up his dick slowly once with a wet hand before stroking him a few more times with a bit more pressure, sliding up and down.

He inhales sharply. Nico can barely survive this. He has no idea how he’s not going to be disappointing once they actually get going.

Hand still around his dick, Marti goes from bent thighs to up on his knees, leaning forward to guide Nico until the tip of his cock is resting right at Marti’s opening.

“Are you sure?” Nico asks, double checking. “Are you ready? Do you need me to touch you some more, are you relaxed enough—?”

“Chill,” Marti laughs. “I want this.” By the time he’s finished his sentence he’s already started to sink down.

The pressure is unbelievable. Mari spreads his legs and lowers himself slowly until he bottoms out, and Nico hears his breath stutter like he’s holding it — letting out one sharp exhale when he’s fully sitting on Nico who’s now all the way inside him.

Marti smiles before he moves again, a little shift up that couples too many sensations inside of Nico — his heart swells at the happy look on his face, his nerve ending feel like they are on fire, his hips long to match the movements.

“Does it hurt?” Nico manages to say somehow, this hazy cloud of bliss still not opaque enough to not put Marti first.

Marti doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he rocks himself on top of Nico — raises and lowers his hips a few times with a slight wince now and again like he’s trying to find the right spot. “A little,” Marti admits. “But in like, a really really good way.” He groans in a press back down, collapsing into Nico. “This is good.” He arches his back and stills, nudging Nico’s cheek with his nose.

Which must be his cue to move.

So he does. He grabs Marti’s waist and thrusts up — finally in a consistent pattern without falter that can’t last long. Nico already feels hot around his hips, something like lava pooling between them with all the wet pressure, each long slide in and out of Marti.

Each one bringing a sound out of him Nico has never heard before, like a quiet whine with every exhale vibrating into his temple.

It feels good to control the movements, to watch Marti unravel on top of him. He takes him in deeper — and when Marti is used to that, a little faster.

The deep backs of his eyes start to feel dense, like they are going to roll. The beginnings of an orgasm.

“I have to stop for a second,” Nico breathes, halting with his lower half sitting on the blanket, still halfway inside Marti.

Marti nods into the side of his face, finding Nico’s cheek with a kiss, then his jaw, his lips. Open mouths, hot tongues. They kiss in this frozen position timelessly — ask Nico for how long and he couldn’t tell you.

Marti’s the one who starts to move again. “I will literally come the second you touch me,” he whispers over it. “If that’s what you’re waiting for.”

Nico lets Marti fuck himself slow over his lap, the slick pressure enough to make him come like this but not for awhile. He just wants to hold on — to feel this close and this present — for a little longer.

To let himself have this — Marti on top of him like an anchor. 

Who is so beautiful with his fucked up hair and his glossy eyes and his smile being interrupted when his mouth makes that little “o” shape on every slide down. His wide shoulders and his sturdy middle, skin adorned with light freckles. 

Marti leans back and, yeah — full view like this, eyes locked like this — Nico feels close just seeing the little details of him.

He begins to meet Marti’s motions, hips connecting to hips as he thrusts up when Marti dips down. The intensity and speed picks up. 

And fuck, he’s coming. He felt his stomach tighten but it only gave him a second of warning before releasing. His hips stutter as he tries to drag it out, his voice breaks around the sound of Marti’s name. He feels it everywhere — the tender spots behind his eyes, on top of his knees, the tips of his fingers and curling toes.

He hasn’t forgotten about Marti, though. In a coming-down daze Nico skims the hand on his waist to the soft part of Marti’s lower stomach before wrapping his hand around his cock, still slick from the lube.

And Marti wasn’t wrong. It takes just a few seconds of Nico stroking him before he’s coming all over Nico’s hand, body forgetting it’s rhythm.

Nico turns his head to let Marti’s face fall into his in a kiss — open mouthed until it tapers off soft and sweet and smile shaped.

“You still here?”

Nico feels Marti break away and brush the hair out of his face, flat palm over his forehead. Giggling.

Nico nods. The euphoria is wearing fast — his sticky hand and sweaty thighs. But the weight of Marti on him is still as grounding as ever, centering how overwhelmed he is. Yes, he is still here. His agreement to that feels much more loaded than the probable intention Marti asked it with. 

But that’s okay.

“Do you want to take a bath?” Nico asks, and Marti nods into another smiley kiss.


	2. but it still changes

Nico made the bath too hot. He puts one foot in after turning the water off and winces with a smile while Marti laughs at him, bubbles already up to his chin.

“Scoot your big butt over.”

Marti just waggles his eyebrows, extra animated on his exposed forehead — his damp hair slicked back, curling at the edges as it half-dries.

Nico sits on the other side of the tub, their knees bent up and knocking together before finding comfortable positions under the water and over each other’s laps, resting on pointy hip bones and soft thighs. Probably too much boy for one bathtub, but they make it work.

He closes his eyes, sinks down, and exhales — letting the hot water rise up to his neck and turn his skin red with the burn of it. Somewhere in the shifting, he feels Marti’s hand rest right above his knee. The little touch makes his heart pang with the tenderness of it. He’s always reaching out for him.

Post-coital is always a bit like this — comfortable and relaxed with a hint of overwhelmed.

But to be honest that feeling has more to do with Marti than it does with anything else, because it’s never been so intense before. It’s probably still to do with the novelty of it all; Nico has never fallen into a faster comfort with anyone — so much so that after they do something so intimate he has to remind himself it actually happened, that someone like Marti actually exists. (The overwhelming part being that since Marti exists, he’s finite. He’s here now but not guaranteed. Nico doesn’t know how to ask for the constant reassurance he needs, resulting in a spiral of crushing thoughts that makes everything bittersweet. He wishes so much that, like Marti, he could live in the moment.)

Although that hint seems a bit more saturated than usual right now.

In these moments, it’s always best to check on Marti. If he can’t stop his own revving, knowing that Marti is calm — that there’s nothing to worry about — usually does the trick.

“How are you feeling?” Nico wonders in a low voice, eyes still closed. He finds Marti’s hand on his knee with his own, lacing their fingers together between soap bubbles. “Are you sore?”

Marti just snorts, squeezes his hand. “I mean, yeah a little bit.”

“I’m sorry —”

“Worth it,” Marti interrupts him. “Don’t be sorry? What? I wanted it. It was amazing.”

It was. Nico still feels like he’s coming down from it.

But he’s having trouble telling Marti that. So he just nods his head, chin dipping in and out of the water as he does so. Hopefully Marti’s eyes aren’t closed too so he can see.

A beat passes that makes Nico think maybe they are, though.

Marti rubs his thumb over the tops of Nico’s knuckles, a soothing circle on the soft, waterlogged skin of his hand.

“How about you? How are you feeling?”

How Marti picks up on his dips in mood despite attempting to rationalize them he will never know. Maybe the struggle of fighting with his own mind isn’t as hidden within his features as he tries for it to be. He swears Marti reads into every minute scrunch of his brows, every angle of his mouth, every breath held too long.

The last thing Nico wants is for Marti to think he’s regretted any of this, and he knows it’s probably coming off that way based on the conversation.

In truth, he doesn’t really know why he can’t fully enjoy this right now. The scene is set for peaceful perfection, yet his brain keeps whispering half-formed anxieties about how this could all be over tomorrow.

“Will you come here?” Is all Nico manages. He tugs at Marti’s hand and spreads his legs.

Marti gives easily, with a giggle and a whispered _of course_ that both breaks and mends Nico’s heart.

He feels all too tender right now, like the smallest push into his insecurities might leave a permanent bruise.

In a clumsy, slippery rearrange, Marti turns around to sit between Nico’s knees, back pressed against Nico’s chest with red wet curls leaning on his shoulder.

Nico wraps his arms loosely around Marti’s middle, kisses the top of his head with pressed lips for more than a few seconds. When he breaks away, Marti turns to look up at him, placing a wet hand on Nico’s jaw and tugging him in for a proper kiss.

He knows he always does this — drags Marti on top of him when he needs to feel some sort of tether. But he hasn’t had one in so long. And he knows Marti doesn’t mind. (Took him awhile before he stopped constantly asking if he was crushing Nico, though.)

Nico sighs into the kiss, unclenching his jaw so everything about it is soft. 

He feels the shape of Marti’s smile against his lips, and it’s like he can read his mind. Which isn’t really hard, by the way — not with Marti’s inability to portray a proper poker face about anything. 

Their lips slide, Nico turns his head. It’s lazy and uncomplicated. Marti’s thumb strokes his cheekbone in the midst of it.

It’s always the buzzing of his phone that pops their happy bubble. Why did he even bring it in here?

Nico grunts into their kiss, distraught, and Marti breaks away but doesn’t move his hand from Nico’s face.

“Maddalena?”

He hates that Marti still asks that. It makes guilt pool in his stomach until it aches with anxiety.

But it’s not surprising, seeing as she called once earlier today already. Seeing as she never stops calling.

“Probably.”

Nico slumps down, hugging Marti tighter. He lets his phone ring until it stops.

He doesn’t like thinking about her. Maybe one day, years from now, they can be friends. Towards the end there, before switching schools, it worked quite well that way — an obvious, mutual slip out of love with the lingering commonalities and the comforting _you know who I am._ She was safe. She proved time and time again she was never going to leave.

And yet, despite best attempts on either side, he knows he wasn’t easy. And she hurt him. A lot.

Nico doesn’t like thinking about her because it makes him feel guilty.

He knows she wants to apologize. Which means he should too.

“Earlier…” he starts, feeling Marti’s hand leave his jaw and trail down his neck before coming rest over his own on Marti’s stomach. “You said Maddalena had apologized to you?”

“Yeah,” Marti sighs.

He remembers it vaguely from their prior conversation before cutting Marti off with his anger towards her. Not in the right headspace to think about it or why she was calling or having enough energy to deal with it. “Why, exactly? When?”

Nico feels Marti freeze against him, his frigid stance contradictory to the hot water.

“Ni, it’s fine. I don’t want to cause any drama.”

Drama. That word gives him flashbacks to last year. To everything he messed up so bad he fled to London for the summer. 

Because there’s another thing about Maddalena: she knows everything about him. About that.

“You don’t. You won’t. Did she tell you something?”

His heart rate picks up, Marti can probably feel it against his back. It feels like panic — at least, as much panic in Marti’s presence is allowed. 

There are still so many things Marti doesn’t know about Nico — things about his past. 

And he will tell Marti on his own terms. Maybe he should at least tell him that now.

The thought that Maddalena stole any of that from him makes his throat swell in equal parts offended fury and frustrated tears.

“I met her that morning.”

_That morning._ It’s been reduced to those simple words. Nico knows exactly which morning is _that morning,_ despite hardly remembering the source of it.

“And she wasn’t exactly kind, I guess. But I didn’t expect her to be. When I called her the night before —”

“You called her?” He can’t be mad. He _can’t_ be mad. He barely remembers what happened. The only person who knows is Marti, and he gave him the high points a while ago — but where exactly Maddalena fit in the picture was left out of it. In the back of his mind, he knew this is what happened anyway. How else would they have known? 

_He can’t be mad._

It takes a lot to justify this thought, to fight the swing in his emotion. This is not Marti’s fault. They have to have this conversation at some point.

“She texted me earlier that day, too. Ni, I didn’t know what else to do.”

He sighs, dropping his temple to rest against the top of Marti’s head. “I know. I know.”

Marti leans all his weight back, pushing into him — almost pinning him down. But it feels nice. Nico doesn’t press him to continue; he knows he will if he gives him the space to, radiates the energy that this is a safe conversation to have.

“I really think she was worried. I wouldn’t have liked me then either.”

“But what did she _tell_ you?” Nico urges, covering his impatience with a soft tone of voice. The nerves of what Marti does and does not know are starting to buzz violently. 

So much guilt. Worthlessness. He clutches to Marti like a lifeline.

Who must notice, the first word of his reply getting caught in his throat.

But he needs to know. “Please answer.”

Marti swallows. “She told me about your diagnosis,” he hesitates. “That you’ve had it for years.”

Nico nods into Marti’s hair. Yeah, he’ll never be able to have this. He regrets so much not telling Marti sooner. But that thought’s all in hindsight. Then, he thought he was doing what was best. He always does. But look how great that turns out to be.

“Also that it would be best if I didn’t see you.”

A long pause. Nico wants to cry at how untrue that is.

“That you weren’t really in love with me.” Marti has the grace to squeeze Nico’s hand, a silent affirmation that he knows this isn’t true.

Another long pause. Nico braces himself.

Martino lowers his voice. “That there was another guy. Similar situation. That you wouldn’t remember his name if I asked.”

Ah. There is it.

Nico wishes he could vanish. He feels so selfish holding on to Marti right now.

“You can talk about it, if you want. It won’t make me uncomfortable or anything. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

And yet, he always proves that he’s the bravest, most authentic, most selfless person Nico has ever met.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Nico whisper-laughs, dropping his head to say it into the skin of Marti’s shoulder, contradicting with the tears he feels stuck in his throat.

It’s the last thing he’s worried about. 

Without even knowing, Marti just reassured Nico of everything.

In the absolute best possible way, too, because Nico didn’t have to ask him to. And therefore it doesn’t seem forced, contrived, or pitying. 

Like everything about Marti, it’s just genuine.

“I’m just upset I wasn’t the one to tell you. And I will tell you everything,” Nico holds on to him tighter, places a delicate kiss to where Marti’s shoulder meets his neck. “I promise. I will. Today has just been a lot.”

He feels silly after saying it, considering they’ve done nothing all weekend an outsider might seem taxing. But his brain is at capacity for the day, his emotions on the edge of boiling.

“And I should call her back,” Nico accepts, sighing deep right below Marti’s ear. “After this.”

Marti scoots down, cranes his neck all the way back to rest on Nico’s chest so Nico sees his upsidedown face. With his big brown eyes ringed in wet dark lashes. With a million freckles. With a smile synonymous with understanding.

Nico is so in love with him.

“Take your time,” Marti nods, grinning. “I’ll always be right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> talk to me on [tumblr!](https://bisexualcaravaggio.tumblr.com/)


End file.
